


All I Am, All I Have, All I Desire

by orphan_account



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Assassination, Betrayal, Black Emperor Wrathion, Book: War Crimes - Christie Golden, Development, Diary/Journal, Difficult choices, Enemies to Lovers, Feelings, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Orgrimmar, Pandaria, Paranoia, Past Relationship(s), Prompt Fill, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Stormwind, Undercover, Visions of N'Zoth, Void Corruption, War Crimes, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth, World of Warcraft: Legion, World of Warcraft: Mists of Pandaria, Worry, Wranduin Week 2020, trapped together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:55:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26399035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Wranduin Week 2020 :)
Relationships: Wrathion & Anduin Wrynn, Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Kudos: 40





	1. Malice Aforethought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Removing the weak link may strengthen the chain yet. Perhaps Azeroth was not yet doomed: only one more sacrifice would be required for a chance at salvation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wranduin Week Day One: Betrayal  
> Rating: Mature  
> hekka Jon x Dany s7 vibes :'(  
> wrathion is totally a rogue...that can also summon fireballs....like how cool is that

_“He is a weaker king than his father,”_ The voice informed him, observantly. Wrathion agreed, remembering the prince’s naivete. The priest never entirely grew out of that unfortunate passiveness, and it cost Azeroth every second that ticked by. It would seem that the late High King was unsuccessful in snuffing it out early on.

 _“He is not the kind of ruler Azeroth needs in these times,”_ Clearly. Varian Wrynn could have been enough to lead the world to vanquish the Legion: the king had been the epitome of strength and determination. Unfortunately, said strength and determination were focused on the wrong ‘enemies’ until it was far too late. Only one other could have saved Azeroth, but meddling hands had thwarted him.

 _“The Alliance is far too vulnerable in this mourning state, embodying the spirit of the faint-hearted pacifist that is their leader,”_ The newly-crowned King Anduin Wrynn was long lost in a state of despondency and despair, only reacting to the Legion’s advances instead of confronting them directly. The Horde’s new leader was also reluctant in action; she only waited for opportunities that would never come.

 _“Removing the weak link may strengthen the chain yet,”_ If this link were to be _removed_ , it would swiftly be replaced. If an effective leader were put into the equation, namely King Greymane, the Alliance’s mourning would be transformed into a drive for immediate vengeance. Perhaps Azeroth was not yet doomed: only one more sacrifice would be required for a chance at salvation.

 _“Just one sacrifice. Much like in those strategy games you once loved.”_ Within Wrathion’s mind, the ghost of Kairoz vocalized thoughts he wished to deny.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Wrathion allowed himself to indulge in old memories featuring Anduin Wrynn. The boy’s smile and laughter reliably alleviated his stresses. The odd warmth in those blue eyes had enveloped and comforted him. The unexpected quips that dared venture from his proper mouth granted him laughter. The confessions to one another that only the stars witnessed brought incomparable joy to him. The love that had blossomed always sent pleasant shivers down his spine.

He had not been on Azeroth long enough to have previously experienced such happy events. Wrathion could not imagine any of these pleasantries occurring with anyone but the open-hearted Prince of Stormwind. This open heart was a danger upon himself: as shown during the demolition of the Divine Bell. Typically, a heart approaching adulthood would begin to close, as a nocturnal flower in the twilight, but this one still spilled compassion and trust everywhere. His peace-loving side should have died years ago, in times of desperation during war. But true-to-his-heart he had remained, and Anduin Wrynn had doomed himself.

The warmth that those memories usually granted him fell away abruptly, leaving him cold and miserable with reality. Wrathion knew there was no other option; this was Azeroth’s final chance.

He flew above Elwynn in his true form, blending into the darkness of the night. This region’s scent was filled with life and fruitfulness, sending a subconscious flare of hope to his mind. Though he had never been this south in the Eastern Kingdoms, he instinctually knew which direction to go long before the great Keep came into his view.

As the large building grew nearer, Wrathion’s heart grew heavier with despair and regret. He wished he could have found another solution to this growing threat, but time would not allow any other plans against the Burning Legion. Were Kairozdormu still with him, perhaps time would be a negligible element. But he was alone now, about to eliminate the only one who could tell him otherwise.

Wrathion could have had Left and Right see to this grim task: he knew they would be finished by dawn, leaving no trace. It would only take a couple of words, and his plan would be immediately in motion. However, he felt obligated to carry out this order himself: he wanted to see the king one last time; to tell him that he loved him and capture his lips once more; he wanted his to be the final face Anduin saw. He felt he was the only one who could ensure the king’s passing was as peaceful as possible.

He landed on the roof of the Keep, light as a dove. He inhaled deeply, searching for Anduin’s location, and finding it through scent. The king’s aroma once again brought memories to mind, but Wrathion brushed them away, unwilling to be distracted.

He transformed into his humanoid form and stealthed himself, and climbed through the nearest window. As he snuck past several guards, he focused his senses on the king, which he approached. Anduin’s breathing was steady, indicating that he was sleeping.

Wrathion nearly stopped in his tracks as he paused to consider waking the king. While he didn’t wish for his soothing words to be unheard, he didn’t want to risk being discovered prematurely due to the king’s cries for help.

Suddenly, he found himself standing before two guards on either side of the door, staring down the dark hall. Wrathion couldn’t help but smile as he caused a distraction a few meters to the left, enabling him to open one wooden door, slip into the king’s chambers, and shut the door in a matter of undetected seconds.

Once inside Anduin’s room, he removed his stealth and exhaled quietly, turning his gaze towards the sleeping king. He listened to the familiar breathing through the dark, feeling his heart rate decrease considerably. Anduin slept with his back to the room, to Stormwind, to Azeroth. It seemed symbolic in the dragon’s mind, cruel symbolism drenched in irony.

The despair within Wrathion reappeared with fire, tears finally escaping his eyes. Each step he took towards the bed, he took reluctantly, wishing instead he was returning to the warm embrace of Anduin’s love.

Once he reached the bed, he had to stifle his cries with his hand. He wished, he oh-so-desperately wished it had never come to this: that this was a dream which would never become a reality. With his trembling, unoccupied hand, he reached towards his belt for a dagger. He wanted nothing more than simply to leave and pretend that no consequences would come of this selfish want.

He stared at the beauty before him, silently crouching at the bedside. Anduin’s golden hair, tinted red by his eyes, was spread across his pillow and covered part of his delicate, angelic face. His chest rose and fell to the rhythm of peaceful sleep.

As Wrathion’s fingers closed around the weapon, he wished he had simply asked his agents to do this for him. He had no desire to see the blood of the only one he had ever loved upon his hands, but the choice lay with him here and now: one life lost, or millions. Suddenly, he remembered the reason he had insisted on coming to Stormwind himself.

He removed his hand from his mouth and brushed soft locks away from the fair face. His fingers faintly brushed across Anduin’s cheek, briefly startling the dragon. More of Anduin’s face was visible, filling the dragon with a renewed pain. Direly wishing the circumstances were different, he made to wake the king for one last reunion.

Gently shaking the sleeping form, Wrathion knew he had succeeded when he saw sleepy blue eyes looking up at him. More tears were flowing from his eyes as he saw Anduin’s widen in recognition. He shifted suddenly, now facing Wrathion in disbelief. The two stared at each other in silence, although Wrathion could hear all the unspoken questions in his head. Anduin’s soothing voice played in his head, a pleasant break from the voice of Old Gods or Bronze Dragons.

Finally, the king broke the fragile silence. “Wrathion?” He croaked, the events of reality catching up in his mind. "Is it really—"

Impulsively, Wrathion surged forward, capturing the king’s lips in an embrace he had missed for all these years. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his damndest to hold back his sobs as he slowly brought the dagger up from his waist.

He could feel Anduin both tense and relax under him, and he was thinking about how confused the king must currently be. Feeling nothing but pain in his own heart, he pulled Anduin’s face closer to his, unsure of himself, yet still carrying through with his horrid plan. He wanted to feel something other than this pain, but nothing would mend the wound about to be made.

He pulled back from the kiss slightly, only to murmur last words to his lover. “I love you,” He whispered, praying to all powers he could imagine that Anduin heard. He kissed him one last time with such desperation, plunging the dagger into Anduin’s chest.

Hearing the gasp of pain wrenched at his own heart, but he pressed his lips harder against Anduin’s. He could feel the other twitching underneath him in a futile attempt to grasp onto life. He squeezed his eyes tighter, not wishing to see the flower of crimson blood blooming on Anduin's nightshirt. Wrathion was no longer sure whose tears he felt upon his face. When the taste of blood reached his tongue, he felt increasingly nauseated; he could no longer bear this Light-forsaken embrace and pulled away from the kiss. He bit down on his hand to prevent his wails from being heard, as he caressed Anduin’s pained face and watched his chest rise a final time.

Once it was finished, he transformed back into his draconic form and jumped from the window, away from his lover’s corpse. As he flew away from his atrocity, he wailed into the sky, directing his curses and despair and fury towards the intruding world above him.


	2. one little ember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An especially silent moment passed by, sending chills running up and down Anduin’s back. Then, he sensed it. The brief presence of void he felt was enough to set off a chain of horrible speculations and realizations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wranduin Week Day Two: Black Emperor Wrathion  
> Rating: Teen & Up to Mature  
> idk what's up with me and the darker themes...

After scanning the vast horizon for hours without rest, Anduin finally saw the drake’s form in the distance soaring high above the forest’s canopy. At first glance, any spectator would believe the airborne figure could be an eagle or buzzard, or an immensely creative mind could consider it a wyvern. However, as the winged creature drew nearer to the great city, no sane person could deny a dragon.

It had been nearly two days since the news of the Black Prince and his heroic band of champions leaving for Ny’alotha had reached the king’s ears. Since he had heard of their departure, Anduin grew exponentially agitated, and his mind was overflowing with worry. He may have harshly criticized the efforts of the SI:7 before the hard-working Spymaster Shaw, unfairly comparing his organization’s efforts to the impeccable efficiency of Wrathion’s Blacktalon agents. Anduin’s state of constant frustration hadn’t died down enough for him to apologize to the loyal man, but he planned to do so as soon as the venturing party’s safety was confirmed.

Once the black dragon’s form was spotted among the grey sky around the city, Anduin’s uncertainties immediately transformed into excitement and relief. He assumed that once the threat of N’Zoth was dealt with, the champions would return to Silithus to recount the events of their battle against the Corruptor to the Cenarion Circle. He believed that Wrathion would immediately return to the desert, relentlessly working towards preserving Azeroth’s well-being.

However, a small portion of him dared to hope that, despite how their previous encounter just a few days ago, Wrathion would visit Stormwind to see him, let him know that he was alive, and plan for the future. Seeing the unmistakable wings of a black dragon had filled Anduin with the same excitement that a child has upon discovering presents left by Greatfather Winter.

Anduin wanted to run and meet Wrathion halfway, but there was no way of knowing where the dragon would land. He wished to tackle the Black Prince in the biggest hug to make up for the unwarranted assault, then sweep the dragon away so the pair could finally catch up with one another. He oh-so-desperately wanted to reintroduce the irreplaceable prince back into his life with a fresh slate between them.

The tremendous dark form swooped past the balcony where Anduin stood, causing a fresh gust of air to greet his face. Anduin turned and watched as the dragon swiftly landed near the statue of King Varian Wrynn. Without missing a beat, the young king turned and ran past his guards towards the entrance of the Keep.

As he ran, steadily closing the distance between him and the dragon, seconds seemed to fly by faster than they had the right to. A rush of adrenaline coursed through him, boosting his every step, helping him ignore the pains throughout his legs.

Only Wrathion was on his mind. The happiest memories from their shared past resurfaced, increasing Anduin’s excitement. Their various adventures together which taught both of them more of the culture of the continent around them. Their many engaging conversations which led them across the passage of night unto a new morning. The seemingly endless hours spent staring at a board covered in intricate figurines, along with the playful taunts which accompanied every round of the game. After tedious meetings or sessions throughout an entirely uninspiring day, the mutual rekindled thrill of reuniting. Every smile and every laugh shared between the two were displayed thoughtfully by Anduin’s memory.

He had just rushed into the throne room when the pleasant recollections had come to an abrupt end. His running had come to a halt just a few paces away from where the room joined the hall. Towards the sight before him, his mind responded initially with confusion, then shock and fear, and lastly, anger.

At least one dozen royal guards were scattered across the stone floor, their armor dented in alarming places, some with blood leaking through gaps in their equipment, and their limbs outstretched or bent in unnatural positions. Surprising amounts of rubble from the ceiling and walls were sprinkled around the room, resting on or around these fallen men and women. A glance across the room told him that the trail of gore continued out of the Keep. As he processed the horrific scene before him, his personal guards caught up with him, seeing the scene for themselves.

In the blink of an eye, both had swords drawn and were positioned defensively around their king, whose eyes were still trained on the brutalized guards. What had happened to these people? Were they dead, or were they still suffering through the agony? Who had—

“Your Majesty,” One guard said, snatching Anduin from his terrifying trance. “We don’t know what threat is, so—” Before she could finish her advisement, she seemed to be flung across the room, crashing into the opposite room, and crumbling upon impact with the floor. A startled cry escaped the king’s lips, but he quickly reacted, summoning a Greater Heal to help her before she slipped away.

However, just as he was about to cast the spell, he felt the Light fizzling away. He recognized the sensation of being spell-locked and quickly realized his healing could be rendered useless during the battle with this unseen enemy.

The remaining guard stepped in front of Anduin, slowly backing the two of them out of the Throne Room while searching for the hidden assailant. Both of them were cautious enough not to turn their backs towards the cadaver-filled room, and they were both as silent as possible, desperately trying to avoid detection. The fallen guard’s words had already indicated Anduin’s presence, but perhaps there was a chance his title had gone unheard by the intruder.

Several moments of silently inching backward passed seemingly slower than a millennium. With fear once again resurfacing within the king, Anduin began to wonder if a witness would happen to pass by and get help. It was a futile hope, as the intruder seemed to have impeccable reflexes and unreasonable power.

An especially silent moment passed by, sending chills running up and down Anduin’s back. Then, he sensed it. The brief presence of void he felt was enough to set off a chain of horrible speculations and realizations.

_Wrathion…_

Too late, he saw the purple glow of a Shadow Bolt flying towards them. Anduin tried in vain to summon a holy shield to protect them both, but he was still blocked from calling on the Light.

The bolt hit the remaining guard square in the chest, sending him flying backward, crashing into Anduin on the way. A moment later, Anduin’s head smacked the stone floor, leaving him with a pounding headache while he was trapped under the weight of the now-dead guard.

The walls of the room were spinning around him, and he struggled to regain his breath. He shut his eyes, hoping to escape the visual of the rotating walls. Anduin felt tremendous guilt: all these guards were dead around him, while he still was alive. He failed to save them.

He was too busy trying to stabilize himself physically and emotionally that he didn’t hear his foe’s footsteps approaching where he lay. His eyes snapped open when he felt a shadow being cast over his face. Despair returned when glowing eyes met his, confirming his deep fear, though they were not the red eyes he had expected to see.

Wrathion’s eyes were instead a rich violet color, the same color as the shadow he now wielded. The despicable smirk on the dragon’s face told Anduin that Wrathion was truly lost, and his mind was now replaced by the one he tried so desperately to deny. The king felt his stomach churning as the full truth hit him with such a mighty force, but he had no strength to expel nausea from within him.

“A poor little priest without his Light. Whatever shall I do with you?” Wrathion’s voice mused, taunting the trapped king. The dragon’s form crouched next to Anduin, a clawed hand grasping the priest’s face roughly. “My master wants to eliminate all the wielders of the _Holy Light_ ,” the voice jeered, “But I’d like to have my fun with you.” The dragon bared his inhuman teeth, sending a new wave of fear through the young king.

Disbelief tried to battle reality in Anduin’s mind, but losing the remainder of his hope, he knew all was lost. Tears welled in the king’s eyes, knowing he had lost his dear friend to the fate he had feared most. The plan to defeat N’Zoth had failed, now Azeroth was vulnerable...and doomed. Anduin was unable to hold his sobs back, his face twitching in the dragon’s grip. His tears fell free as he looked into the other’s eyes.

He prayed that this was simply a dream or a vision: a warning which could help in the true efforts against N’Zoth. However, the pain in and around him was too real for his wishes to have been fulfilled.

“Don’t despair, young king,” Wrathion’s unnaturally smooth voice sounded, releasing Anduin’s face from his grasp. He tossed the corpse aside like a sack of grain with inhuman strength and lifted the priest, now paralyzed with fear, bridal style. Wrathion began walking towards the exit of the Keep, past the path of corpses he made. Anduin squeezed his eyes shut, not wishing to see the scene again. “It’s not over for you, my dear. Not yet. You’ll get to watch the world burn first.”


	3. Bound Leather Journal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few samples of various entries from Anduin's journal regarding the Black Prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wranduin Week Day Three: Enemies to Lovers  
> Rating: General  
> (more like enemies to friends to enemies to lovers, am i right?)

_...It has only been a few days since I was first acquainted with the self-proclaimed Black Prince, but I have already decided that I dislike his character. Though he masks his initial encounters with high levels of charm, he has no remorse for the blatant insults which are released from his mouth. He is arrogant, believing he solely holds the power in every conversation he deigns to have, and he is too proud to stoop to the level of politeness beyond the second meeting._

_It seems I could blame his lack of decency towards mortals on his rumored youth: according to the innkeeper, his draconic form is only two years of age, although, while in his human form, he seems to be nearing adulthood. However, I do not wish to grant him any excuses for his behavior._

_His clothing is ostentatious, much like his voice, always clawing for the attention of a room—which he always managed to capture. Each day, he finds a new combination of the finest silks, perfumes, and jewels to adorn himself with, showing off his style and sophistication effortlessly. And every time he walks into a room, he always brushes off his robes or turban, as if wiping away the mere_ possibility _of imperfections._

_Imperfection seems to be what he abhors most in the world, as seen by his encounters with variable champions who have failed him in one way or another. His words and attitudes to his hard-working subjects will quickly mutate from disrespectful to degrading. Light, help the souls of those weary travelers..._

• • •

_...I find the fluctuating company of the Black Prince quite strange. He claims he is unaffiliated with any faction, yet he holds audiences with such a diverse array of people. It’s a miracle that battles haven’t already begun in this inn, despite the army’s worth of champions who have walked through the doors._

_I did not wish to judge him based on his heritage, but I still feel a bit uneasy here, as his stay at the inn is more indefinite than mine. He’s only approached me to greet me when I was recovered enough to receive guests, but I’ve only seen or heard him from a distance since then. Perhaps my personal biases are getting to me, but I do have other reasons why I mistrust him._

_Despite the presence of my own guards, I am worried about his schemes with members of the Horde. I have stayed relatively hidden away for the beginning stages of my recovery, particularly because of death threats from Garrosh that have managed to reach my ears, but since I am now able to move around more freely, I have taken to spending most days meeting and talking with natives around the common rooms. While there, I have also heard snippets of conversation with the Black Prince. The young dragon seems particularly interested in the campaign of the Warchief, both here and in Kalimdor._

_I will admit my curiosity towards his chosen guardians as well. I’ve seen Trolls, Elves, Orc, and Humans alike sharing whispers with each other and the black dragon, which indicated to me that they are his personal force, but the origin of such a group has me a bit intrigued. Perhaps I will find an opportunity to ask the other prince..._

• • •

_...The Black Prince has undoubtedly secured his place among my least favorite people._

_For the first time since our initial meeting, he approached me, offering me an opportunity to talk with him. Even Tristan and Sumaya were apprehensive about his approach, and they are likely too young to remember the distress caused by Lady Prestor. But I wanted to give him the chance to prove he wasn’t such a terrible person, so I accepted his invitation._

_I asked my guards to give the two of us a bit of privacy, a courtesy that the other prince probably expected, as the orc and human who were usually with him were absent._

_We began our conversation talking about Pandaria, which was a pleasant change since I have recently been confined to only reading about it. We talked a bit about the people’s culture here, which he reportedly enjoyed experiencing over the past months. I tried to ask him about his past before coming to this continent, but he evaded my question. I didn’t think much of it, accepting it might have been a sensitive topic for him._

_Inevitably, our conversation turned to the relationship between the Alliance and the Horde. He had asked me to fill in some gaps in his knowledge regarding the Alliance’s history, which truthfully felt a bit rusty for me, after reading so many books and scrolls of Pandarian lore._

_He soon started talking about the Divine Bell_ Shenqing _and was reciting his fascination with the story of its creations and purpose. Talking about the bell and its intended use made me uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to interrupt him. After all, this was the most humane way I’ve seen him behave._

_But of course, his crude tendencies made a reappearance when he insulted me. I didn’t care what two topics he was trying to bridge with his statement. I left the common area as quickly as possible, considering I still required supports to move. Thankfully Sumaya and Tristan came to my aid, preventing me from being further humiliated. I’ll only ever look back at this encounter with anger._

_He had said, “It’s a shame the bell didn’t kill you. The Alliance would need a much stronger leader to replace your father”..._

• • •

_...It’s been a few weeks since I last spoke with the Black Prince. I have been spending significantly less time outside of my borrowed room so that I wouldn’t have to see him. I’m still uncertain whether Sumaya and Tristan had heard what that bastard had said to me, but I don’t plan on talking to them about them, and I certainly don’t plan on telling my father about the incident. As much as I hate that draconic scoundrel, I’ve grown to love the environment that Tong and his other clients have provided me with._

_In all honesty, I’ve missed the company of others. It’s incredibly boring in here, and I’ve already read all the books in the tavern. Perhaps tomorrow I will brave the common area again..._

_• • •_

_...I’m still unsure of why this happened, but Wrathion and I have begun speaking again. It had begun in small amounts, simple acknowledgments towards each other’s existence. I certainly kept my distance from the dragon, and I doubt he cared, as he still was busy meeting with his multitudes of champions._

_But one day, he came to me during a meal and apologized. I was severely caught off guard by the phrase “I am sorry” coming out of his mouth; I choked on my soup. He had waited for me to finish my fit before elaborating on his condolences, but I don’t remember most of what he said._

_It seems horrible to think that apologizing for one’s faults could be out-of-character, but I had dwelled on the thought for a while. However, it came as a strange relief to know that he was capable of such words._

_He sat with me for the rest of the meal. Though we didn’t talk much for the rest of that day, we began anew the next day, and we talk more and more as the days run by. Our conversations have stayed away from politics since, although I still overhear his plans and schemes with both the Alliance and Horde members. I cannot deny that I am curious about his opinions and thinking, but I think that it’s for the best that we don’t talk about that yet._

_I still don’t trust him, and I’ve made it known to him that I do not trust him. He took that news without offense, saying something along the lines of “trust is built over time”. He does say many things that make it seem that he tries too hard to seem wise beyond his years._

_I don’t know what it is, but something about him still doesn’t sit right with me..._

_• • •_

_...After seeing our budding friendship, Tong graciously gifted Wrathion and me a game,_ Jihui _. It was a newly crafted set of pieces, each of them beautifully carved. It took a long time for us to learn the many rules of the strategic game, but eventually, both of us were familiar enough with the basic rules to play for the first time. Wrathion won many more rounds than I, displaying his cunning and intelligence. By merely watching his gameplay, I learned more about him._

_He always takes the time to learn about his opponent and their abilities or tactics, then discerns how to quietly and efficiently defeat them, not without first distracting them. I found it poetic how he could vanquish my mightiest piece with a simple, inconspicuous move and an unimaginable amount of patience. I always fell into his well-crafted traps, still believing that I currently had the upper hand. Despite my frequent defeats, I learn new strategies for the game, but so does he._

_After a while, we started talking more during the games. Both of us were able to converse while still concentrating on the game, and we would spend hours and hours in one sitting just playing the game. I was grateful to Tong for finding a new set just for us. Otherwise, we would ultimately deprive the other guests a chance to enjoy the game as well._

_During one of our most recent games, he opened up to me about his plans for protecting Azeroth. He told me it was his duty as the last member of the Black Dragonflight to defend the world against extreme threats, such as the Burning Legion. Personally, I don’t understand why he is the only one with this obligation—there were numerous other dragons still on Azeroth; why did Wrathion have to take this responsibility on his own? When I asked him this, he told me I wouldn’t understand._

_His plans seem to reach quite the extremes, but I know his keen mind will perfect his strategies..._

• • •

_...Earlier, Wrathion had asked about the state of my recovery. It was kind of him, and he seemed genuinely concerned. I told him what the healers told me, and he appeared saddened at the news. If all went according to plan, I should be well enough to return to Stormwind. I had already figured out that pains would remain with me, but there wasn’t much that any potions or prayers could do for me. However, walking would certainly become less of a chore, the more I practiced._

_I have been practicing. When we weren’t playing_ Jihui _, Wrathion and I went for short walks outdoors, taking advantage of the early summer weather. It’s been nice to talk and walk together, although I do face difficulty when trying to keep up with his hurried strides._

_His actions and tone—and appearance, for that matter—still radiate with the same energy of wanting to be heard and seen; however, he seems to go about it more politely. I like to think that my tendencies have etched onto him._

_I noticed a bit of hurt in his voice when I told him I’d likely be returning to Stormwind, especially with the campaign against Orgrimmar drawing to a close. If all went well, it would be safe for me to return home. He tried to hide it, but I could hear a hint of jealousy in his voice. It was the only other emotion I’ve ever seen in him, aside from pride and frustration._

_I wanted to tell him that even though I’d be across the sea, we could still keep in contact, and perhaps we could visit one another, but I couldn’t tell him that confidently. I know that father would have a fit if I told him I invited a Black Dragon to Stormwind—no less, the son of Deathwing. I wasn’t sure he even knew Wrathion existed. Since I hadn’t been suddenly relocated, I assumed that neither Sumaya nor Tristan had mentioned the Black Prince in their report, per my request..._

_• • •_

_...Wrathion...He left me...How could he just_ leave?...

_• • •_

_..._ _I keep thinking about the disaster that was Hellscream’s trial. I keep hoping that he will come back and fix what he’s done and apologize. I know he’s capable of apologizing..._

_• • •_

_...I keep thinking that I’m seeing him through the windows. I’ve only seen him in his true form once, and it was beautiful. I keep futilely thinking every bird I see is him. I miss him so much..._

_• • •_

_...I know he’s not coming back, but I’m yearning to know if he’s alive or not. It’s destroying me, not knowing..._

_• • •_

_...I read in a message to father that Kairoz was found dead. There’s still been no news of him. I hate him so much..._

• • •

_... His goal had always been to protect Azeroth against the Legion. The Legion was here, but he wasn’t, of course. I just find it ironic. His strategic skills had been flawed: in his haste, he made a fatal move that cost both players their emperors in the long run. It wouldn’t matter to him now; he was dead, he was gone._

_My heart still aches for him; I can’t help it. He brightened my every day as I struggled through the pain of recovery--he made me forget the pain entirely. He was always by my side, making me smile, keeping me enchanted by his thrilling stories, and always listening when I needed him to...except when it mattered most. I wish I had known; I could have saved him from his mistake and helped him to protect the world, together._

_Instead, here I am, rambling like a lovesick fool, mourning a ghost. Maybe he was right; the Alliance needs a stronger leader than me. It’s a pity the bell didn’t kill me: I would have been spared from so much pain..._

• • •

 _...I thought he was dead. I thought he was gone forever. I knew I would never see him again. But_ he _was here, in Stormwind. He was alive. Wrathion._ Wrathion _was alive. The bastard was alive, and he came here, expecting me to welcome him in open arms._

_I was so angry; I didn’t mean to strike him. But I wanted to hit him a million more times: once for every time I shed a tear for him, for every night I laid awake thinking about him. I wanted to hug him and hold him again. I wanted so badly to tell him how much I missed him and how much I loved him and how much I cried for him and how much I hate him. I wanted to hold him close and never let him go. But he left me again. He went back to Silithus—he was only across the Great Sea, and he let me believe he was gone, that I lost him forever. I hate him so much._

_He left me at the end of the world and came back again at the end of the world. He claims that he’s doing what’s best for Azeroth, but what about me? Does he not care for me anymore? Does he know what he did to me? Does he know that I mourned for him and wanted to die just to see him again? Does he care? Does he know how much I_ ~~loved~~ _love him?..._

• • •

_...I keep dreaming of him. Every night, I lose him over and over; again and again; and I can’t do anything to stop it. All the pain I felt then comes back and haunts me every time dream about him, or I close my eyes, or every time I think about him..._

• • •

_...I’m terrified for him. I love him too much to sleep. The Old God loves tormenting me with images of him. I can’t take any more of this torture..._

_• • •_

_...He seems so close, yet so far. I can see him, but he’s beyond my reach. I can’t call out to him; I can’t get him to hear me; I can’t tell him I love him. I feel helpless again..._

_• • •_

_...I fear for him. I keep writing messages for him, but I can’t bring myself to send them. I don’t want to distract him. I don’t want to disturb him. After all, his duty to Azeroth comes first...it always has..._

_• • •_

_...I want nothing more than to go to him and tell him. But I’m afraid. He hates me. I hate him. But I love him. Light, I don’t know what to do, and the world is ending again..._

• • •

_...The torture was over. I felt it as soon as he came back to me. He was alive. He came back to me. I finally got to hug him and hold him. He held me close. I could feel his heart beating next to mine. He came back to me, and he was holding me. Nothing else mattered to me during that moment._

_He had changed so much. He had grown and matured, and somehow he was even more beautiful to me. I hated him for leaving me all those years ago, but I still loved him so much._

_Time slowed just for us, giving me my heart’s desire. He was there with me, alive and mine. I finally got to hold him close and cry to him. I finally got to tell him I loved him. He held me close and never let go..._


	4. Malice Aforethought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The intensity of the winds increased, demonstrating the city’s name fittingly. He could feel the chilly touch of the wind visiting him through the window, as if curious why the king was so warm. As if to answer the wind’s query, Anduin first looked to the fireplace across from his bed, which still burned brightly in defiance towards the dark of night. The flames’ dance comforted the king, but not so much as the quilts’ tangible softness that enveloped him, and certainly not the warm embrace of another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wranduin Week Day Two: Free Day  
> Rating: Explicit  
> yes, i do have I Guess That's Why They Call it the Blues in my head

The distant rumble of thunder woke the young king of Stormwind. Without looking towards the window, he knew a storm was crawling here from the west. He could hear the initial patter of rain against stone, feel the chilly breeze pass by as it swept through the canals, and smell the petrichor carried to his nose through the wind. He could also feel a familiar ache in his knees and ankles that always served as an emissary to rainy days.

He saw upon the stone wall across from the window the fantastic illumination of lightning for a fleeting moment. Shutting his eyes, he remembered his father telling him about the dialogue between the light and sound. They traveled across the kingdoms, sending their regards to every family as they passed. It had been a tall-tale told to assuage the young prince’s fears and air his sleep, but Anduin smiled, thinking about what the two forces could be saying this day.

The intensity of the winds increased, demonstrating the city’s name fittingly. He could feel the chilly touch of the wind visiting him through the window, as if curious why the king was so warm. As if to answer the wind’s query, Anduin first looked to the fireplace across from his bed, which still burned brightly in defiance towards the dark of night. The flames’ dance comforted the king, but not so much as the quilts’ tangible softness that enveloped him, and certainly not the warm embrace of another.

Beside him, lying atop the covers, was his advisor, sound asleep with his arms around the king. Anduin turned his head slightly to behold the ethereal creature entirely. Dark, curly hair framed sharp, familiar features, although it was odd to see the structured face devoid of a particular crimson glow. Sometime during the night, Wrathion had removed his shirt, leaving dark skin from firm shoulders to a toned waist on display for the king. The dragon was still more dressed than the king, clad in naught but his breeches beneath the covers.

Fondly, Anduin reached for Wrathion’s face, caressing the smooth skin beneath his fingertips. The dragon looked so peaceful in his sleep, as he in his rest, he seemed to be spared from the stresses of Earthwarder.

Light, if anyone saw them now. Second only to the late Varian Wrynn, King Greymane would have the biggest fit if he knew that the Black Prince had been bedding the High King of the Alliance. Anduin was surprised that the old Worgen king didn’t already know. He would have been confronted and reprimanded immediately for sleeping with a Black Dragon. Perhaps the good Spymaster knew; he seemed to know everything. But if Mathias Shaw were concerned about Anduin and Wrathion’s relationship, he would have said something by now.

After another boom of mighty thunder, the dragon stirred. Anduin smiled, seeing a sliver of red peaking at him. A sleepy smile crept onto Wrathion’s face as the young king squirmed to get closer to his advisor.

Anduin laid his head on Wrathion’s bare chest as the dragon’s fingers began combing through his golden locks. Exhaling contently at the sensation, Anduin closed his eyes, almost wanting to fall back asleep in his lover’s arms.

“Good morning, my King,” he heard Wrathion say softly.

Anduin smiled wider, somehow leaning further into the dragon’s gentle touch. “I could hardly call it morning yet,” he replied, earning him a gentle smack on the top of his head. He felt the dragon’s chest rumble with a deep chuckle.

“How did you sleep?” Wrathion asked, gently laying his hand on the back of the king’s neck.

“Well. And you?”

“Wonderfully, with a divine angel beside me. The most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on,” The dragon recounted. Anduin felt his cheeks warm at the endearment. He usually ran colder than most, so didn’t think he could get any warmer. His body quickly proved him wrong.

Wanting to cool off, he folded the blanket back, now exposing his chest to the air. He felt his body chill a bit, but the feeling did not last. He felt Wrathion’s hands venture lower down his back, tracing the skin all the way down to the blanket’s new position, leaving shivers in his finger’s wake, but Anduin’s blush was not far behind.

Anduin looked up at his lover, watching his lips twitch from a smile to a smirk. Wrathion’s knowing look send heat pooling near his belly, and blood flowing to where the quilt was covering.

Unable to resist the primal urge, Anduin reached up to grab the dragon’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss. The kiss started soft and languid, but inevitably it became desperate. Anduin’s hands held Wrathion’s face to his, while the dragon’s hands gripped onto the king’s waist tightly.

Nothing could have pulled them apart, save for the need of air, but each time they pulled back, they dove back in, with passion increasingly greater than before. It wasn’t long before Anduin slipped himself between Wrathion’s legs and planted kisses and love bites across dark skin. Heavy breathing transformed to moans as Wrathion pulled Anduin flush against his core.

Wrathion’s fingers were once again threaded in the king’s blond hair, only this time, they were fisted in the strands, tugging now and then in response to the sensations given by Anduin’s lips, teeth, and tongue. The king began leaving marks across the dragon’s smooth skin, relishing the groans that he could feel and hear. His hands were running up and down the dragon’s sides, eventually tugging at his lover’s waistband. The two separated long enough for Wrathion’s pants and undergarments to be removed, and once they were off, the king pounced back onto the prince, like a lion upon its prey.

Their lips locked again, and they ground together, moans and mewls of pleasure occasionally escaping the seal of their mouths. Anduin’s breath hitched when Wrathion’s hand plunged into his underclothes and brushed his slender fingers along his length. He moaned loudly in Wrathion’s mouth as the dragon removed the garment for full access and began to stroke.

Lost in a blissful haze, Anduin hardly realized Wrathion’s unoccupied hand was planted against his chest to push him onto his back. The dragon hovered over him with greedy eyes, still pumping his cock. Maintaining eye contact with his sovereign, Wrathion positioned himself by the king’s hips and slowly took Anduin into his mouth.

The king’s hands immediately shot to different places. One grabbed Wrathion’s head, gripping the silky curls tightly, but the dragon didn’t mind. His other hand was a fist in his mouth, futilely trying to muffle his sounds of pleasure. Wrathion’s beautiful eyes were trained on him, but Anduin couldn’t keep watching, afraid he would burst. He threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, biting down on his hand to try and keep quiet, but the obscene sounds coming from below him left him redder than before, and the image of what Wrathion was doing to him was seared in his mind.

He could feel the dragon’s tongue tracing him, as his lips kept rubbing him all the right ways…Light, Wrathion had only just begun toying with him, and Anduin already felt overwhelmed. Wrathion continued bobbing his head up and down, humming quietly to himself, while Anduin whimpered and squirmed under the skilled mouth. The king let the advisor have his fun for a few minutes, slowly torturing the king, before pulling the dragon off him. Wrathion smirked, and that look sent more fire into his loins.

“I see you’re excited,” Wrathion said lowly, crawling over the king, straddling him. What he wanted was easily translated without being said, especially as the dragon impatiently grinded down on the king.

Anduin could only groan in response, not knowing how quiet he could remain. He wanted to return the favor, to taste the dragon’s sweet lips, but the prince was already lining himself up to ride him. Perhaps next time, then.

Anduin’s hands went to Wrathion’s hips, helping to balance the dragon as he sank onto his cock. Various curses escaped both men as they adjusted to the familiar sensation. Wrathion’s cunt always felt snug around his dick, but it seemed the dragon was always ready for his king.

In less than a minute, Wrathion was thrusting his hips, taking the king and wringing pleasure out of them both. His clawed fingers dug into Anduin’s shoulders for leverage, as he moved his hips rhythmically; head thrown back and moaning loudly. Anduin’s eyes couldn’t leave the dragon’s face, as he watched it scrunch up in concentration and pleasure.

The dragon was always beautiful, but something about such a primal state augmented Anduin’s attraction. He loved when Wrathion used his cock, loved how he held so much power even in intimacy. Neither of them could form words they wish to express, leaving only grunts to fill the air.

After some time, Wrathion leaned down and devoured his king’s mouth, trailing his hands down Anduin’s broad arms and locking their fingers together. He pinned Anduin’s hands to the bed, squeezing, as he continued to mercilessly fuck the king. Before long, Anduin came, releasing in the dragon above him. The dragon kept riding him, however, determined to reach his pleasure.

Eventually, The dragon’s pace slowed, but the thrusts of his hips’ thrusts were rougher, indicating to Anduin that he was also close. Anduin moved his hand from Wrathion’s grasp, found his cock, and rubbed the flesh, helping the dragon find his release. Wrathion hissed at the sensation, still gyrating his hips, but not long after, he came as well, slumping atop the king.

Both of them were catching their breaths, staring at each other in bewilderment. Wrathion leaned down and captured the king’s lips once again. They rotated a bit, so they both lay next to each other, still wrapped around one another. Once their breathing calmed sufficiently, both sets of ears heard the thunder roaring once again in the distance. They both smiled at each other, glad that it had woken them up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've never written about the ~devil's tango~ but it was in my head so i attempted it


	5. the smile of an axe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrathion thought it was cruel that Anduin was still trying to give hope to his people. Whatever words Anduin spoke to them likely wanted to encourage them not to lose hope and to remain strong. But even from across the room, the dragon could see through the prince’s pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wranduin Week Day Five: Trapped Together  
> Rating: Mature  
> we interrupt your regularly scheduled fluff and smut for this...whatever this is  
> this one was inspired by alternatedoom's nor can pleasure smile here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872040

He wasn’t sure if he had opened his eyes, only sure that he had started _looking_. His ears had perked up as several sets of footsteps approached the outer door, and he felt his heart quicken with anticipation as he could hear the distinct jangle of keys and the loud click of a lock. He looked up at the dungeon entrance and saw another orc turnkey walked in, escorted by four soldiers, with several new prisoners behind him, external light following. He hardly moved, not wanting to bring attention to himself, and listened as the second set of footfalls came into the prison.

The loud clinking of chains was all but familiar to him. Orgrimmar’s guardians often brought prisoners in and out for various reasons, most commonly for primal satisfaction, an audience with the Warchief, or executions. However, it’s been a few weeks since any new war prisoners were brought to Orgrimmar. Hellscream’s impressive and unstoppable campaign begun swiftly after the Alliance and Darkspear Rebellion had attempted to destroy the True Horde but failed. Garrosh Hellscream had seen and taken a golden opportunity: All other armies of Azeroth had been spent and annihilated, leaving his enemy’s lands available for conquering.

The Warchief had begun by hunting down and slaughtering any survivors of the failed invasion, then immediately turned his sights to the Echo Isles, completely razed the lands, and massacred the Darkspear people. After that, the filthy fields of Mulgore were burned with their people hunted for sport. Some of the Kaldorei escaped from the Horde in Ashenvale and Darkshore and fled to Teldrassil, where they still clung to the illusion of safety. It seemed that elves of all kinds were in high demand by the orc warriors, but both Kaldorei and Sin'dorei were better at evading capture than their early troll ancestors.

With Kalimdor in the fist of Hellscream, The Eastern Kingdoms faced the growing threat of invasion, with few leaders and soldiers left to defend them. Only the Great Sea protected them from the endless waves of orc supremacists.

Wrathion would have been impressed by Hellscream’s determination and leadership, but the Warchief’s focuses were on Azeroth’s weakened nations, not on the Burning Legion.

Wrathion had entered the city, unsurprised to see the heads of many defeated race leaders mounted on spikes, which lined the path to Grommash Hold. The fresher trophies were furthest away from the building, while the oldest, King Varian Wrynn and Chieftain Vol’jin, stood on the right and left of the entrance. The display was unnervingly diverse; there had to be at least one member of every race mounted in the city.

He had planned to enter the city, pledge his allegiance to the Horde, and affirm his loyalty by serving as an advisor. Seeing some familiar dismembered faces had been a bit unsettling, but those feelings were nothing compared to the discomfort he felt upon discovering the Heart of Y'Sharrj hanging above him. He had been mid-sentence, commending the Warchief’s strength, when he felt the void tugging at him oh-so-slightly.

“Is something wrong, dragon?” The large orc snarled.

“No, Warchief,” He lied, before continuing to flatter the Horde.

He hadn’t the chance to complete his speech about his future services to the Horde. He had only begun to say that the Horde should spare some enemy soldiers to help defend the world against the inevitable invasion from the Legion when he was incorrectly accused of treachery and was apprehended immediately. Left and Right were quickly overwhelmed and killed, and he was being dragged away, a collar clamped around his neck, subduing him.

The enraged Warchief ordered him locked away, yelling loudly for the whole of Azeroth to hear: _“I will break this whelp into my will, and will ride it to battle and with it, purge the world in flames!”_

He was angered at the insulting announcement, but more infuriated that a chance to secure the fate of Azeroth had slipped through his hands.

Silently watching, and leaning against the bar of his metal cage, he watched as new prisoners were filed in— _human_ prisoners. From their perfumed scents, Wrathion discerned that instead of the usual rural farmers and fishers, these captured humans were city folk, some even nobles. On them, he could smell the stench of their sick and shit, but also the salt of the sea. Watching the new arrivals being shoved into one cage, the dragon realized with horror from which city these prisoners came.

It was not yet an hour later when Wrathion heard the return of the orc jailer. This time, only one new prisoner accompanied him, with more chains restraining them than all the others. The prisoner stumbled with nearly every step, not only because of the weighted metal restraints on attached to their ankles, but also the hood over their head, which obscured necessary vision.

The new addition was thrown harshly into a cage of their own, and just before the door was slammed shut, the hood was roughly ripped from their head. A storm of hair strands erupted at the abrupt removal of the fabric. The hair was a golden blond, as was common in the Eastern Kingdoms. One of the new arrival’s eyes was swollen shut, and their nose was crooked and bloodied. However, the brutalized face was still painfully recognized by the Black Dragon.

Despite the darkness of the prison, Prince Anduin Wrynn still glimmered with hope. His head, though pushed downward by the weight of numerous chains fastened around his neck, still was held up as he whispered encouraging words of faith to his people.

The last time Wrathion saw the other prince was just before news of his father’s death had reached their ears. They had lain together upon the jade-colored grass, looking up at the millions of stars that graced the night. They had fallen asleep in each other’s arms under the blanket of sky. The dragon had woken with the sun to find the priest was gone.

He found a letter addressed to him, hastily explaining the emergency departure and Anduin’s many regrets and worries about the situation. Wrathion’s heart hurt as though it were broken, though Anduin’s safety was always most important to him. If were something to happen to the young prince, he could never live with himself.

Wrathion had reread the letter several times, hoping to find an update on the prince’s condition upon the crinkling parchment. However, he remained in the dark, away from his love, across the sea…

Wrathion’s heart dropped, as he knew what fate awaited his lover. He doubted he could convince Hellscream to spare the Prince of Stormwind, but he was desperate to save Anduin’s life.

The dragon didn’t notice at first, that the prince’s stark blue eyes were trained on his red. Once their eye contact was strengthened, Anduin smiled, despite the circumstances, and likely not wanting to appear distressed before his people.

Wrathion thought it was cruel that Anduin was still trying to give hope to his people. Whatever words Anduin spoke to them likely wanted to encourage them not to lose hope and to remain strong. But even from across the dungeon, the dragon could see through the prince’s pain—rather, the king now, as Wrathion new Varian Wrynn could not have survived decapitation. 

He didn’t dare call out to his lover—who was so close and far at once—knowing an orc would take pleasure in tearing out his tongue. Unlike the king across from him, Wrathion allowed for his emotions to be known, his tears spilling uncontrollably, and his sobs shaking his form. He had failed himself, the world, and his lover, all at once.

As the night came over Durotar, most of the prisoners had escaped from reality into the realm of sleep. Anduin Wrynn was no exception, but Wrathion was. He feared falling asleep and waking up to find his lover’s decollated form. He watched the priest as he slept, wondering how he could with so many cold chains wrapped around him. His lover was beautiful, still finding peace as he slept through hell.

Wrathion wished he was strong enough to escape with his lover upon his back, as they burned this filthy blemish from Azeroth’s back. He wanted to fly them back to the Pandarian continent, so they may continue naming stars between every kiss. He wanted to hold his prince tightly, and never let go, never allow him to know pain nor suffering nor loss.

The dragon woke to the loud click of a lock, followed by the footsteps of a pair of grunts. He raised his sleepy head to see the orcs walking over to one of the cages, Anduin’s cage...

The dragon shot up, the most he had ever moved in the presence of guards. He gripped the bars of the cage, desperately trying to loosen them so he might fit through and kill the guards.

“Anduin!” He cried, trying both to turn attention away from his lover, and also trying to capture his lover’s attention. “No! Anduin!” He continued yanking at the metal bars, with one hand, while tearing at the magic-blocking collar with the other. The guards had glanced at him, but for once, they paid him no mind. They didn’t come over to his pen to insult or kick him or steal his meal of stale bread.

The young King arose from his sleep, along with many other listening ears. By the time his head was up, the guards had grabbed him and were dragging him out of his temporary cell. The king panicked for a moment before he realized that eyes from every corner were upon. Now was a justifiable time to thrash and rebel, he was being carried to his death for Light’s sake.

The young king didn’t smile this time but only looked back at his lover with emotionless eyes. He opened his mouth as if to whisper final words only to him, but Wrathion’s view of the king’s lips was interrupted by the same crude hood.

“Anduin!” He cried again, his voice hoarse with despair. “Anduin, I love you!” He cried out, reminding the golden-haired beauty, yet knowing his declared love would no longer matter as soon as an executioner’s axe was swung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again we go with the heart-annihilating prompts...i really hope i'm living up to my username  
> i'll try to write something happier for the next days, but no promises, really


	6. goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was only one bed in the High King’s chambers. There was nothing odd about it; it was completely normal, and to be completely expected. It was where a monarch slept, meditated, or bedded his mates. The bed was of an enormous size more than sufficient enough for two bodies. It was covered in beautifully dyed wool quilts and topped with intricately embroidered pillows. It had a sturdy wooden frame, with the mascot of the great city carved into it. It was just a bed: Nothing more, nothing less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wranduin Week Day Six: There Was Only One Bed  
> Rating: Teen & Up  
> it's simply a inconspicuous bed...idk what you want from me....

There was only one bed in the High King’s chambers. There was nothing odd about it; it was completely normal, and to be completely expected. It was where a monarch slept, meditated, or bedded his mates. The bed was of an enormous size more than sufficient enough for two bodies. It was covered in beautifully dyed wool quilts and topped with intricately embroidered pillows. It had a sturdy wooden frame, with the mascot of the great city carved into it. The bed’s cushioning was soft; Wrathion felt nearly enveloped by the mattress.

A peculiar thought reached him: He lay in the same place where countless consorts, mates, or lovers spent intimate nights with the sovereign of Stormwind. He was the king's company—in likely the same bed that said king was conceived. This fact could have been flustering or unsettling to the dragon, but instead, he was filled with unwavering pride.

Of all the millions of people on Azeroth—whether a simple coupling for only one night, or one day of millions with someone who truly deserved his love—Anduin Wrynn had chosen _him_ to be at his side. In the room darkened by the night, he smiled to himself, feeling incredibly special that he was the lover chosen to be with the beautiful king in his vulnerable hours.

Anduin stirred slightly next to him: He had only come to bed an hour or two ago. He had come from an exhausting day of endless meetings with his subjects, only getting a chance to retire for the night hours after his advisor. Though Wrathion had been lonely during that time waiting on his sovereign to complete his responsibilities, their separate departures would draw much less suspicion towards their late-night activities.

What an uproar that would cause, if the Black Prince were caught in the King’s bed. He’d be lynched in an instant, accused of seducing the King and silently taking over the city, much like another member of his Flight had attempted.

It was obvious to him that he was still mistrusted by the nobles of Stormwind, despite all he had done in saving their world from N’Zoth’s influence. He was sure that their biases against him stemmed primarily from his heritage, not from his past actions—although those mistakes must have augmented their mistrust of him.

He was forced to always tread carefully: He had to watch his words tediously when mentioning the Corruptor, he was never allowed to speak with the King privately, he was always being watched carefully by the SI:7, the many royal guards lining the halls, and that dreadful Worgen king. He was under more scrutiny than the few Horde representatives that stood with the court, which surprised him, considering the two faction’s fragile history.

He feared the day he was caught with the king: Whether just a few affectionate words or intimate action. It seemed the day was completely inevitable, the chances increasing every time the lovers glanced at each other. He wondered what Anduin would say, once he felt comfortable enough to announce that they were together. Would he declare them engaged? Would he join with the dragon in matrimony? Would they become a family?

But what would the carping nobles say? Would they judge Anduin’s proclivities? Would they judge his lover’s heritage? Or would they scrutinize their king for simply not choosing one of their offspring as a mate?

A cold hand was on his shoulder, and he jolted.

"Wrathion?" A sweet, sleepy voice called through the dark. "Are you alright?"

He released a breath he had unknowingly been storing. "Of course, my dear. I'm quite alright. I'm just thinking," He explained, feeling touched at his lover's concern.

"Come back to sleep," Anduin ordered sleepily, gently tugging the dragon closer.

Wrathion obliged, happily scooting himself closer to the king, wrapped in his strong arms. Shutting his eyes, he quietly whispered, "As you wish."


	7. forbidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Two lovers, forbidden from one another: A war divides their people, and a mountain divides them apart. Built a path to be together and die...."  
> -The Cave of Two Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrathion Week Day Seven: Undercover  
> Rating: Gen to Teen  
> totally inspired by Oma & Shu because why not and also SECRET TUNNEL

There was a hidden tunnel from the High King’s chambers which led out of the Keep to the border of the Old Town and Trade Districts. Its entrance was a door hidden in the stone of the floor, between the fireplace and the bookshelf to one side. There, was a wooden ladder that led to the tunnel. Once through the tunnel, one could quietly maneuver their way through the Trade District and out of the city, to safety. Such an escape has only been used a few times in past invasions or emergencies, leaving its existence unknown to most.

However, today, the tunnel’s use was unconventional and ill-advised. The King of Stormwind was silently and slowly trekking through the dark underpass alone. He had snuck himself out of the Stormwind Keep in the late hours of the night, desperate for company.

No, not necessarily the company of intercourse. There were plenty of beautiful people of all kinds across the city, celebrating the defeat of an Old God, as well as continuing to celebrate the end of the Fourth War. Some were reuniting with friends and family, some were drowning their sorrows in a glass of whiskey, some were willing to spend the night with a stranger. While there were plenty of options, the High King wanted specifically the comfort of a warm embrace and a shoulder to lean on, and someone to listen to him as he cried. Not many strangers would want to deal with that on a night meant to be joyous, but Anduin knew of someone who would take him in.

The hidden tunnels were damp and cold, unlike the night outside. Shivering, Anduin pulled his cloak tighter around him, but it wasn’t enough to fully warm him. He sped up, hoping to reach the other side before he froze.

Despite the threat of N’Zoth disappearing almost suddenly as it had resurfaced, all the King’s advisors insisted that he stayed within the safety of the keep.

_“We can never be too careful.”_

_“There can always be a...compromised individual in the city.”_

_“We cannot be certain that the threat is gone.”_

Despite how vague their caution could be interpreted, Anduin knew exactly to whom they referred, the only one of his _advisors_ who were hardly present.

The dragon’s grand reappearance in Stormwind City had been met with...skepticism. Even Spymaster Shaw, who knew in advance that the Black Prince was coming with the Speaker of Azeroth, kept several tabs on the son of Deathwing. Though everyone, _everyone_ had a common reason to mistrust the dragon, Anduin’s guard had been brought down by the return of his ex-lover.

Initially, he had been furious at the advisor’s arrival. For years, Anduin lay away at night, having not an inkling whether his lover was alive or not. He had gotten over his frustrations and simply wanted Wrathion to come back to him.

During those years, even before his father died, he had been urged to find a bride, a queen-to-be, so that the future of the Alliance may be ensured. As king, he hadn’t even reached his adult years, and there was such desperation for him to have a son. All of his advisors were thinking several years into the future—a whole generation ahead—while he, his mind, and his heart were trapped in the past.

He had never put effort into courting a woman, as was expected—nor even with the men that came forth to ask his hand. The thought of moving on sickened him. It would seem that Anduin’s heart had died with his secret lover; no one could fill that void. Yet, no one knew what troubled the king, and no one knows now.

Finally, he reached the end of the tunnel. He fumbled a bit in the dark, searching for the handle to move the stone, before sighing and casting a small illumination spell. When his hand was grasped around the handle, he paused for a second, realizing there might be a guard stationed on the other side of the wall. The last thing he currently wanted was to be followed around by guardians or returned to a furious Spymaster and Gilnean King. He considered knocking the guard unconscious and making a run for it, but that could cause more trouble than it was worth.

He decided that he would simply stun the guard with a Chastise, and slip into the city unnoticed. As slowly as he could manage, he dislodged the heavy stone hatch letting some torchlight from the canals into the tunnel. Just next to where the door was, stood one guard, who fortunately happened to be facing away from where Anduin was to emerge.

Silently, and apologetically, he stunned the soldier, quickly shut the door, and ran into Old Town, after making note of where this entrance was located. After making sure the disguising charm was functioning, he made his way to the Pig and Whistle Tavern.

After the long day of meetings, Anduin had returned to his chambers to find a small leather pouch containing the charm, and a short note waiting for him upon his pillow. Though the note was unsigned, Anduin knew immediately who had written it: the penmanship was unmistakably familiar.

When the Legion came, but not Wrathion, Anduin was heartbroken. All that the dragon had done, was supposedly in preparation for the Burning Legion: He would not abandon Azeroth in her time of need. However, when the inevitable day came, no Black Prince was to be found, leaving Anduin knowing that he was truly gone.

To his great surprise, he wasn’t. Not even a year after, the Black Prince returned, as if he had never left. Anduin felt betrayed and angry at first, but his negative emotions had died down. But he didn’t wish to invite personal questions regarding their past before the court, so he remained neutral towards the dragon during the rest of their encounter, despite how much it pained him.

When the dragon had announced that he was returning to Silithus, the High King nearly broke before all his advisors and allies. Despite how much he ached to, he could find no neutral way to beg Wrathion to stay. It hurt him to watch the dragon leave and to not see him for several weeks after their short-lived reunion.

He wanted to write letters to the dragon, to communicate with him in any way, but the last thing he needed was for any of the returning letters to be intercepted and read by the SI:7. Anduin trusted Shaw, but the wounds left in Lady Prestor’s wake were too deep to not have extreme concern towards the pair’s relationship.

A message from the Cenarion Circle announced that the Corruptor had finally been defeated and that Azeroth was safe. This was welcome news to the city of Stormwind, especially to the many priests and paladins who were so heavily affected.

The city was abuzz with laughter and joy once again, a celebration that seemed likely to continue limitlessly if given the chance. The discussions of the court returned to the local populations, instead of soldiers across the world. There was only talk about harvests and housing, not death-counts and battle plans. For once, everything seemed normal again.

Anduin saw this as a perfect opportunity to reach out to his long-lost love, and for them to peacefully reconnect. The newest advisor had even returned to Stormwind, prepared to fulfill his new role. Anduin was pleased with this, but he came to learn that others were not.

_“You would be needed in Silithus more than here. We need someone there to keep us informed.”_

_“We are unsure if it is wise to have the travelers from Ny’alotha roaming around the city.”_

_“We should wait to make sure that there is no longer a threat.”_

Though the words were silver-lined, the message was clear. Wrathion was still not trusted, nor wanted in the city.

Anduin protested, insisting that the dragon had more than earned the respect and trust of the Alliance—no less, the city—but even Shaw told him that it was for his own good.

Finally, he reached the crowded tavern and was standing by the entrance. He doubted that it would be easy to find his inviter in the crowd which seemed to be the entire city’s population. He began to wonder if he could even get in. No one around the outside of the building paid him any mind, which he appreciated.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder. The disguised king jumped, turned to see who had grabbed him. His eyes met glowing, warm red eyes, that looked over him quickly. Though he had expected to meet with the dragon tonight, he was still surprised to see him.

A terrifying moment came when he thought that the dragon wouldn’t recognize the charm nor the disguise, and Anduin considered taking off the pendant. However, he saw the slightest twitch on the corner of the dragon’s mouth, and he relaxed.

Wrathion turned and talked across the street, to a less occupied area, and after a moment, Anduin followed eagerly. Once he had turned the corner, he had barely a moment to remove his disguise before lips were upon his in a pleasurable embrace, and he felt nothing but the same joy and peace that the rest of his kingdom felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all, folks...until next time i write about these lovable dorks


End file.
